


The Obey Me Boys as RPG Bosses: Neo-Osaka

by indiavolowetrust



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mild Gore, Multi, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiavolowetrust/pseuds/indiavolowetrust
Summary: You are one of many modified humans in Neo-Osaka. A relic of your brief time in the criminal underbelly. Your adopted little brother, Luke, has been kidnapped by a criminal syndicate known only as The Devil Triad for unknown reasons. Simeon, his upperclassman, is the sole witness of his kidnapping. Armed with your trusty katana, the healing microbots in your blood, and  the information Simeon has given you, you venture back into the underworld of Neo-Osaka to save your brother.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	1. Level 1-7

**Author's Note:**

> Each section is a description of each character as a typical RPG boss.

**LEVEL ONE -- BELPHEGOR, THE SLEEPING BULL**

In the underbelly of Neo-Osaka, it is only natural that one would want to lose themselves for a little while. You pass by a number of pharmacies that act as black markets, street vendors that hawk anti-intoxicants, and children that run between the crowds. An exchange of secrets and yen, and a pair of shoji-playing women direct you to a shuttered pharmacy down the road. No one’s operated that store in years, they say, but there are always masked men that hang behind the lot. Masks in the shape of a devil.

Night falls. It doesn’t take long for you to subdue a masked man and rifle through his pockets. A hand-held radio tells you all that you need to know: the goods will be exchanged near the butcher’s shop, the password is sleeping bull, and that one is supposed to be there, so don’t fuck this up. The goods are headed towards the base of operations of The Devil Triad.

The underlings are easy enough to deal with. You take them out one by one in their own territory, leaving them alive for only sa long as necessary, and steal one of their masks and uniforms along the way. While it appears that none of the underlings have any information as to exactly where the goods are going – much less where your little brother is – you have more faith in what the lower boss should know. He goes by the Sleeping Bull, you gather.

For one named Sleeping Bull, however, he’s much faster than you had expected.

You can’t tell whether the shadows beneath his eyes are painted or tattooed there. If they’re real, then the Sleeping Bull's got one hell of a sleep schedule. He watches you through half-lidded eyes as he yawns, adjusts the oversized cleaver in his hands, and taps his foot in impatience. Even in the dark you can tell that the Sleeping Bull is planning the best way to butcher you, judging by the way he eyes the wound on your abdomen. Apparently the ruckus you’ve caused during your infiltration has interrupted his nap.

Your offense is a grave one, it seems.

“Do you think you could die a little faster?” he says through yet another yawn. “I’m kinda tired.”

* * *

**LEVEL TWO -- BEELZEBUB, COOK OF THE HUNGRY BEETLE**

The combination of cured meat and seasoning in the ramen is absolutely incredible, as is the addition of a perfectly poached egg. And it’s a chicken egg, of all things! A fresh chicken egg with a runny yolk, set whites, and a hint of soy sauce. You can’t remember the last time you were able to afford such a luxury, much less find it. The pork cutlet is perfectly fried as well. Each crispy bite balances out the nature of the curry it’s been served with. The rice is fluffy, delicate, and nowhere near overcooked. You find yourself nearly moaning with delight with each bite you take.

The cook – you haven’t quite caught his name – only smiles at you over the counter, encouraging you to have more. You did save his beetle-hound, after all. It’s the least he can do.

It’s not like he has any other customers at this time of day, anyway, so you’re free to take your time. While you do find yourself staring at him from time to time, finding his dyed orange hair and face oddly familiar, the thoughts are quickly dismissed by the fresh plate of gyoza that he places in front of you. The cook joins you a few minutes after, takes heaping plates of food for himself, and you ignore the nagging sense of paranoia.

It is only when you are hit with a sudden, overwhelming wave of nausea that you realize something is wrong.

You are barely able to stop yourself from collapsing onto the floor. A white-knuckled hand grips the table as your vision swirls, your stomach turning in on itself. An empty glass shatters onto the wooden floor of the restaurant. The cook only smiles pleasantly at you as you glare at him, demanding to know what he’s done to you. Why has he poisoned you? What would he even gain from doing that?

The cook only laughs. Don’t be silly – of course he hasn’t poisoned you! Only someone unimaginative and boring would do that, and he is neither of those things. The only reason why you’re still alive right now is because you went out of your way to save his beetle-dog. The cook hopes that your last meal was an enjoyable one. You only stare at him in disbelief as he explains that he only wanted to test a new ingredient, nothing more. You just so happened to be the lucky test subject. The first of many to try his new dishes.

The cook – Beelzebub, he introduces himself – asks if you enjoyed eating so many beetle eggs. A gift from The Devil Triad for his service. They’re genetically modified to a rather impressive degree, and they should be hatching right now in your stomach. The larvae are quite famous for their taste for human flesh.

Pain strikes your abdomen, forcing you to double over, and you use the sheath of your katana to keep your body upright. Beelzebub regards it with interest for a moment. Eyes it with curiosity. And then he is pulling a rounded metal container from his pocket, flourishing it before you.

“Let’s play a game,” he offers. “If I kill you, the larvae get to have you as their first meal of the day. If you kill me, you get to have these pills. They’re guaranteed to kill the larvae in no time – if you win, that is.”

You watch in horror as Beelzebub places the container into his mouth, swallows, and shoots you that same pleasant smile. You can already feel the sensation of something crackling and wriggling inside your belly.

* * *

**LEVEL THREE -- ASMODEUS, KEEPER OF THE PINK SCORPION**

You’re sure that the perfume acts as both an aphrodisiac and depressant. It would certainly make sense why all of the employees here have donned some sort of face mask. Masked women and men gyrate against golden poles, scorpion-faced bartenders invite patrons to try a various assortment of poisons, and many more employees work to keep the diffusers filled with perfume. A melange of insensate and intoxicated patrons are scattered throughout the space. Your limbs only grow heavier and heavier as you wander through The Pink Scorpion. The clamor of the crowd becomes distorted. The dim lighting, endless walls, and pink motifs of its animal mascot begin to blend with one another in your vision, and you are nearly rendered unconscious by the perfume.

Thankfully, you have just enough anti-intoxicant patches in your pocket to keep yourself from becoming too inebriated. A slip into the bathroom allows you to replace the patch on your tongue, and your head clears.

And so it is with a mostly unclouded mind that you are approached by a slender, pretty man. He’s one of their best workers, he claims, and it would only be fair for The Pink Scorpion to offer service of the highest quality to its new patrons. You are a new face, after all. Despite your obvious discomfort at the proposition, you had found yourself agreeing. It wouldn’t do any good to act out of line – especially not in a place like this. You’re too noticeable. The Devil Triad has its fingers in every operation here, you’re not sure if you can take on every employee and come out unscathed, and the man before you looks like very pleasant company. Besides, it’s possible that he knows information about The Devil Triad.

He leads you by the hand through pink-tinged halls, up wavering flights of steps, and into a private room. A clap of his hands, and you two are served steaming cups of tea. A single sip nearly burns off the anti-intoxicant patch on your tongue.

Time passes in a strange haze. The man twirls a strand of his blonde hair as he offers you yet another cup of tea, adjusts his bastardization of a kimono to be even more revealing, and shoots you a flirty wink. You dump the drugged tea into a nearby plant when he turns away.

The conversation is light and pleasant. You aren’t exactly lying when you remark that The Pink Scorpion is one of the most highbrow, exquisite establishments you’ve ever seen, despite being a brothel, and the man claps his hands in delight. The Pink Scorpion is his pride and joy, you see. Truly it is the jewel of Neo-Osaka’s underworld. He would hate for a patron to leave with an empty heart or otherwise unsatisfied ...

Just as much as he would hate for an intruder to interrupt their operations.

You roll back from the kotatsu just in time. The wood splinters as the blade of the kusarigama obliterates the table, sending shards flying, and you gasp in pain when a particularly sharp piece of wood strikes you in the shoulder. The anti-intoxicant patch on your tongue can only do so much it seems, judging by the weightiness of your limbs. You wrench the shard out of your shoulder and regard the man through a pink-tinged haze, the edges of your vision starting to blur once more.

The man introduces himself as Asmodeus. Asmodeus, Keeper of The Pink Scorpion. A quick undoing of his sash reveals a number of poison vials beneath his kimono, each one a violent, neon shade of pink. The shoji doors slam shut, and you find yourself coughing as the diffuser in the room begins spewing even more perfume into the space. Asmodeus, as it would seem, is completely immune to its effects.

“You’re pretty cute, you know,” Asmodeus says, shaking his head in disappointment. He readies his kusarigama. “It’s a shame I have to kill you.”

* * *

**LEVEL FOUR -- SATAN, THE ARCHIVIST**

Bookshelves line the walls, books line the shelves, and texts take up nearly every single increment of space possible in the massive library. Not that you’re sure if it can even be considered a library, considering the condition of the place. Most of the books seem to be piled up on one another in a nonsensical fashion, creating mountains against the shelves, and an array of ladders is strewn throughout the place. While you’re not sure where they lead, why they’ve been placed there, or if they’re even functional at all, you do know that someone must be using them. There isn’t enough dust in the library to suggest that it’s been abandoned. Not yet, anyway.

It’s difficult to believe that a place like this exists in the underbelly of Neo-Osaka. It’s even more difficult to believe that the fourth strongest of The Devil Triad spends his time here.

A number of librarians, archivists, and other employees are nestled in corners of the library, hunched over various spreads of literature and manuals. Given that you don’t possess the brand of The Devil Triad, however, convincing one of them to talk to you is nearly impossible. While the library is considered neutral territory, it appears that the triads still have considerable influence over the area and its inhabitants. You spend most of your time being glared at, turned away, and generally ignored – which you should have expected, really.

Thankfully, you manage to catch the attention of a blonde, bookish man. He smiles at you over his rather messy desk, pushes his silver-rimmed spectacles up his nose, and shoves all of his paperwork aside upon hearing the reason of your request. He’d be delighted to help someone in need, he tells you, disregarding the work strewn on the desk before. It isn’t every day that someone travels to the underworld of Neo-Osaka for such a valiant reason.

You follow the man down winding corridors, listening to him prattle at length on one topic or another. He’s more of a librarian than an archivist, he says. He likes his tea with three sugars. Dismemberment and decapitation are some of his most enjoyable methods of murder. The cafe down the street has amazing spinach pies that it serves on the weekends, although he could do without all the extra cream. Staying inside all day doesn’t lend itself to good health, after all.

The bookish man leads you to a massive archive beneath the library and begins searching through the folders. While most of the records are completely useless – in his opinion, that is – there are still a few that he considers worth keeping. The record on the wiles and weaknesses of modified organisms, for example. It is only when you mention off-hand your hatred for The Devil Triad that the bookish man pauses over a pile of folders. He removes his glasses carefully, tucks them somewhere beneath the papers, and smiles at you.

The pain is there before you can even register the impact.

Your body crashes through a number of rickety shelves in the archives, its path only stopped by a concrete pillar. The microbots in your blood work to repair your cracked ribs as soon as possible, mending the injuries as you force yourself to stand, and you blink away the dust to see the bookish man walking towards you.

His expression speaks only of wrath.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he growls, his face already half-formed into that of a devil. The green blaze and exposed pitch-black teeth click together as he speaks, the flesh burning away, and you watch with horror as he tears off more of his pseudo-skin. The inorganic strands of his hands flex and rearrange themselves into claws. “I’m impressed you managed to take out the others, but I promise you won’t achieve the same result here. They call me Satan the Archivist -- but I prefer being called Satan the Librarian. I’m more of a librarian than an archivist, really.”

He’s a cybernetic organism, you realize. There’s no way a human would have been able to survive so many body modifications.

“NOW LISTEN AND LISTEN WELL, HUMAN!” he roars, his voice distorting with the metamorphosis. YOUR INSOLENCE IN THE FACE OF THE DEVIL TRIAD ENDS HERE! YOUR NEXT AND LAST OPPONENT IS ME!”

* * *

**LEVEL FIVE – LEVIATHAN, THE DOCKMASTER**

Your lungs burn. Seawater fills your nostrils and throat as you are helplessly dragged into the black sea, your screams disappearing underneath the surface of the water. You struggle desperately, giving the leviathan-like monster a few choice kicks with the heel of your boot, but it’s no use. Its teeth have latched too deep into the flesh of your thigh. While your microbots can work fast enough to repair the wound, they’ll be of no use to you if you drown. Your eyes sting as you gaze upon the moon through the dark water, its image distancing itself further and further away. This may very well be the last time you see it.

And then it is gone. A lurch nearly knocks you unconscious.

Admittedly, you had been a little too confident. The dockmaster had been alone, strangely, and you had foolishly thought that it would be the perfect opportunity to corner one of The Devil Triad’s members. The devil-shaped brand on his neck had given him away. The only witness of his planned interrogation and murder would be the moon above, you had concluded. It would be too easy for you to take him out. A short distance closer, and you would have been able to subdue him. A moment earlier, and you would have been able drag him away from the docks, force him into one of the storage containers, and torture him until he told you everything you needed to know.

But how the hell were you supposed to expect a massive, monstrous sea serpent to bite into your leg? How the hell were you supposed to expect your night to end with you being dragged screaming into the sea?

A wave of nausea strikes you. Your body crashes through the surface of the water and is deposited roughly onto something solid. A smooth, solid stone. The salt still burns your eyes and nose. You collapse against the stone as you hack up seawater, your lungs grateful for the air. It takes a moment for you to realize that you have miraculously held onto the sheath of your katana.

It takes another moment to notice that you have been thrown into a sea cave.

The surface of the water breaks once more. The dockmaster emerges from the black water and steps onto the smooth stone before you. A flick of his hand, and a portion of seawater rises to attend to him. You watch as the sea forms itself into several pole arms, each one sharper than the last. The dockmaster peruses his options for a moment – and then he takes one of them into his hands, brandishes it, and regards you with irritation.

“Surprised?” he asks. “You’re not the only one who has microbots.”

Moonlight spills into the cave from above. The dockmaster steps into its embrace, still holding his weapon before him, and allows the light to catch onto his form.

Thousands of microbots have been embedded into the dockmaster’s skin, much like scales. The result of what must have been an extremely painful and risky operation. His eyes are double-lidded, allowing him to easily blink away the seawater. His hands – no, all four of his limbs have been modified beyond belief. You’re not sure if they’re even really his. You can’t imagine what could have made him stupid enough to force his body through so many procedures.

Then again, you think to yourself, it’s possible that he did it out of desperation. Only the strong survive in the underbelly of Neo-Osaka.

It is rare for one to be born with psychokinesis. It is even rarer for one to be born with psychokinesis that is strong enough to use in combat. While many undergo horrific, painful procedures in an attempt to enhance their abilities or even give one psychokinesis, the operations typically lead to the death of the subject. The ones that are lucky to survive are often crippled for life or rendered a vegetable.

This man must have had a hell of a reason to undergo such a risky operation.

“I’m not really sure why you’ve been killing us, but that isn’t really my business. An enemy of The Devil Triad is an enemy of mine.” The dockmaster levels his weapon at you. “I’ll feed whatever’s left of your body to Lotan once I’m done with you.”

* * *

**LEVEL SIX – MAMMON, HEAD OF THE TREASURY**

Despite the carnage – and there is plenty of that, considering the goons you’ve slaughtered on your way in – you can’t help but admire your surroundings. The walls are plastered with gold brocade, each golden strand woven skillfully into the material, and the endless corridors are furnished with priceless works of art. You almost feel guilty for tarnishing them with blood. Windows composed of stained glass stretch to lofty ceilings. Carved statues of crows greet you at every turn, their marble beaks and wings poised in warning. You pass by countless mahogany doors, each emblazoned with the insignia of The Devil Triad, and kick down just as many to interrogate the inhabitants within.

Much to your disappointment, however, it seems that even the threat of death isn’t enough to make them speak.

You pause in front of a particularly massive portrait . The frame of the portrait seems to have been cast from pure gold and embedded with precious stones, which is shocking enough – but it is the painted image that truly captures your attention. The man depicted within is surrounded with pelts of exotic animals. His fingers bear multiple rings on each digit, his ears bear piercings in the shape of crows and ravens, and the material of his suit suggests that it has been made from augment-weave. The man’s hair is so bleached that it appears white. His smile portrays a damning cockiness.

It is the very image of decadence and greed.

You travel into the highest reaches of the treasury. The guards are no match for you, of course. You behead one of them before they can even speak. One well-placed kick to the most exorbitant, elaborate door you’ve ever seen, and you stroll into a massive office.

A man – the very same man you had seen in the painting, you recognize – sits at the desk, swirling brandy in a glass. Mammon, the head of The Devil Triad’s treasury. He regards you with interest as you pass the threshold. Despite your bloody, battered state, you level your katana at him and demand to know the location of The Devil Triad’s main operations. They’ve taken the little brother you’ve cared for all your life, and you intend to get him back.

The treasurer sighs. “Hasty, aren’t ya?” he remarks, taking a sip out of his glass. “Least you can do is let me finish. Vintage stuff like this is pretty hard to come by in Neo-Osaka, ya know.”

Your katana knocks the glass from his hands. It shatters against the polished floor. He shouldn’t fuck with you, you recommend. You’ve fought too hard and suffered too much to be played with now. If he would be so kind as to tell you what you want to know, then you might let him --

A shot rings out. Your forearm burns as the bullet tears through it, searing through a bit of your clothing, and you are just barely able to dodge the second shot. You look up to see a very, very pissed off treasurer before you, one of his fancy shoes propped up onto the desk. His augment-weave suit rumples with the movement.

Except he isn’t looking at you. The treasurer, you realize, is staring at a stain from the brandy on his augment-weave suit. A stain that is entirely your fault. When he whirls around to look at you again, his expression only speaks of ire and hatred. Apparently the slaughtering of his underlings means nothing compared to his tailored suit.

“Thought you could pull a fast one on me, didn’t ya?” he barks. His multiple sets of rings click together as he reaches under the table. “Well, ya got another thing coming!”

Every crow statue in the massive office orients itself towards you, their beaks opening to reveal firearms within. Countless lights make themselves known against your body. The treasurer scowls as he grabs a golden plasma rifle from beneath his desk, powers it up, and hefts it over his shoulder. Aims it right at your head. The glare he shoots you nearly burns through his orange sunglasses.

“Come on, then!” the treasurer snarls. “I’ll show ya the power money can buy!”

* * *

**LEVEL SEVEN – LUCIFER, THE RIGHT-HAND MAN**

Something is wrong here. You’re all too aware of the emptiness of the compound. The corridors are unlit. No shadows linger behind the shoji doors and walls. There is only an eerie silence. You pass by gardens of stone and running water, arched bridges, and well-tended flowerbeds. You pass by dark alcoves, monochromatic passageways, and fragrant incense. Your eyes flicker to and fro as you explore the compound, expecting some enemy to come rushing at you from the darkness, but your efforts are wasted. You are alone.

For a while, that is.

A man in traditional garb kneels in the middle of a massive, otherwise empty washitsu. A sword sits at his side. Moonlight spills into the space as you open the door and pass the threshold. The man doesn’t flinch when you address him, nor does he bother to respond when you press him for information. The sound of your unsheathing katana doesn’t seem to faze him either, which infuriates you, and then you are pressing the tip of your weapon to the nape of his neck. You demand to know where your brother is.

The movement is too quick for your eyes to catch. You curse as you stagger backwards, clutching your abdomen in pain. The image of him before you blurs, despite the sufficient amount of light in the room, and your body sways unsteadily.

And then you realize exactly what the man has done to you.

Despite the brevity of the man’s attack, his blade has somehow made its way through a majority of your torso, disemboweling you. You watch in horror as your clothing blooms with the excessive blood. As your organs threaten to leave the cavity of your abdomen. As hands fail to keep most of your intestines in the right place. The man only looks at you with disdain as you fall to your knees, gasping in pain. The sensation burns like a fire through your veins, white-hot and excruciating, and for a few moments you see nothing but patches of shadow. For a few moments you waver in and out of consciousness.

But you won’t die. Not here, and certainly not now.

You slam your blade into the ground and force yourself back onto your feet. The microbots in your blood work to knit your flesh back together, reattaching your organs and skin back into the right places. With one trembling arm, you level your katana at him once more. A challenge.

“So it’s true,” the man muses, flicking his blade. Your blood splatters against the tatami. “I didn’t quite believe the rumors. Congratulations on surviving my first attack.”

You tell him quite thoroughly just how much of a fucking bastard he is.

Much to your surprise, however, the man bows towards you. He introduces himself as Lucifer, the right-hand man of The Devil Triad’s boss, and politely informs you that he has been sent to eliminate you. You bested the others because they were weak and relied on modifications, he explains with a disdainful tone. You bested the others because they were overconfident in their altered physiology. The others saw your modification as common and therefore useless, unlike theirs, and so you had used that to your advantage. It was only the factor of their underestimation that led to their defeat.

He, on the other hand, needs no such things. Altered physiology is nothing to the training and discipline that only a pure human can master.

Lucifer readies his blade. “I look forward to witnessing your skill.”


	2. Level 8-10

**LEVEL EIGHT -- SOLOMON, THE SCIENTIST**

It’s difficult to believe that the cadaver before you was ever human. If the label in front of its preservation tank can be believed, anyway. Thousands of glassy eyes rest from branch-like limbs, rolling aimlessly in the fluid. The surface of its skin reminds you of marble. Multitudinous horns protrude from what you think may have been a head once, one of them curling in to skewer the dead flesh, and it is only then that you notice that the mouth appears to be wrenched open in a scream. You hope that it – no, the human – hadn’t died that way. Aside from that, there are stranger details: a ring of bone encircles its head, seemingly having wrenched its way through the skull; six fledgling wings have sprouted from its back; and there are even veins visible within the corpse’s skin. Blue blood.

You’re not sure what you had expected upon infiltrating the The Devil Triad’s main base of operations. Something akin to an expensive manor, maybe, like where you had found the treasurer. A secret underground laboratory. A lair built into one of the many floating mountains surrounding Neo-Osaka. While the last part is partially true – the human swordsman had directed you to a business district on a floating mountain, after all – you certainly hadn’t expected the main base of operations to be hidden in a corporate office.

Especially not in one of Neo-Osaka’s most magnanimous companies. AkumaGen Technologies is known for its charity events, contributions to the people, and aid it gives to various hospitals throughout the city.

You read the label once more. HUMAN SUBJECT #491, it says. ANGEL PROJECT. METAMORPHOSIS UNSUCCESSFUL.

The door opens somewhere behind you, allowing white light to filter into the otherwise dark laboratory. Someone steps in. You quickly make yourself scarce, slinking into the glass-covered rafters above, and will your body to remain completely still.

It takes less than a minute for the figure – a tall, lanky man in a white labcoat – to make his way to where you had stood. He observes the preserved cadaver before him with a clinical eye, jotting down a few notes onto a clipboard, and powers up a holo-screen. He scrolls through various files, flicking away information that he deems unnecessary. A muffled conversation through a hand radio is barely audible, and you strain your ears to hear it. Something about sanguine material, you recognize. Something regarding recorded data, results of a process, and the latest subject. The scientist mutters something under his breath.

He takes his time with his observations. You take the opportunity to assess him from your position.

He stands a little less than two meters tall, you estimate. Given his narrow frame, he is likely less than seventy kilograms. You imagine that his physical strength is marginal compared to yours. While it is possible that the scientist could alert another worker in the facility, you’re fairly confident that you could incapacitate him fast enough. Your hand rests on the handle of your katana. If you can just –

An invisible force wrenches you from your hiding place. The glass of the rafters shatters beneath your body, and you grunt in pain as the shards dig into your flesh, the metal floor rapidly approaching. Thankfully, you break your fall with your face.

“I didn’t realize we had a rat in here,” the scientist remarks, the fingers of one hand splayed out. A psychokinetic stance, you realize. “Don’t you think eavesdropping is a little impolite? How did you even get in here?”

You open your mouth to speak – only to hack up blood, your body racked by shuddering coughs. You glance down at the sizeable shard of glass embedded into your abdomen. Much to your horror, your own blood has already begun to pool beneath you.

The scientist sighs. “Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter. Sorry about this, by the way.”

You don’t have time to react. Another force knocks you back into the shadows of the laboratory. The metal of some unknown machinery dents when you crash into it, a gasp of pain escaping from your mouth.

In the time it takes for the scientist to attack, however, you take note of approximately three things.

One, he is a true psychokinetic. A psychokinetic with an absurd level of strength and control over his own abilities. Unlike the dockmaster with his modified limbs and horrific scars, the scientist before you has needed no such alterations to his physiology. His abilities have likely been honed over a number of years by The Devil Triad – although he was likely recruited for his abilities in the first place.

Two, his psychokinetic energy is connected to the movements of his fingers. While you had to effectively dismember the dockmaster in order to get rid of his psychokinetic abilities, it looks like you might only have to chop off this one’s fingers. A task easier said than done, of course.

Three, his psychokinetic abilities seem to be limited to the manipulation of glass and air. There is a simple rule when dealing with psychokinetics: remove them from an environment that contains the materials of their affinity. Unfortunately for you, the laboratory is composed of mostly glass.

Something above you begins to splinter. You look upwards to see yet another glass-covered rafter shaking with the force of his will. The scientist furrows his brows in concentration, splaying his fingers into that stance once more. Blood runs from a nostril as he does so, staining his white lab coat, but he doesn’t falter. The air itself ripples and cracks in front of his hand, much like glass. You can see the shards forming.

“Now,” he says, gritting his teeth, “s̷̺͌h̶͍̚á̶̲ṭ̶̈́t̸̳̅e̴̯͆r̴̙̊.”

* * *

**LEVEL NINE – BARBATOS, HEAD OF SECURITY**

The sharply-dressed man before you only regards you with boredom. You stare back at him in disbelief. In spite of your katana buried into his neck, effectively spearing him, there isn’t even the slightest hint of pain in his expression. No discomfort, no adverse reaction, and certainly no surprise. The man – the head of security, judging by his badge – only gazes at you dispassionately, wraps one gloved hand around the blade of your sword, and wrenches the blade deeper into his body. The act pulls you closer. He rears back the other hand. Tightens it into a fist.

The man hadn’t even bothered to dodge your attack, now that you think about it. You should’ve known better.

The impact of his fist against your cheek sends you flying into the monochrome wall behind you. You grunt in pain when you finally crash into it, your body making a distinctly shaped dent in the concrete. Already you can feel the effects of your injuries: your ribs are cracked again, one of your lungs may be perforated, and you may or may not have broken one of your wrists. You’ve been separated from your one and only weapon. Worse, you suspect that the man very well be another cybernetic organism.

It only takes another moment for your suspicions to be confirmed. When he draws your blade from his throat and tosses it aside, the blade is completely free of blood. The white dress shirt that the android wears bears no sanguinary stain.

You’re running out of time. You only have so many hours to find Luke until he is turned into one of the many cadavers you had stumbled upon in the laboratory, and it has already taken you long enough to put down the scientist. With the scuffle ending with both of you being impaled by glass – and only one of you possessing healing microbots – you aren’t entirely convinced that you’ve properly recovered. Not enough to take the android in front of you head on, at least.

You need time. Time that you don’t have.

A bit of metal hangs from the android’s throat. He rips it off in annoyance, tosses it aside, and mouths wordlessly in your direction. Despite your rather serious injuries, you’re glad that you’ve taken away his ability to speak. You’re not sure if you would have wanted to hear the things he would have said otherwise.

Even if you could run, it would be utterly futile. You would only get lost in the monochromatic, winding halls, given the size of the facility, and it would take little time for the android to find and eliminate you. There are no windows in this hall, the next, or the one before this that you can jump through. No doors, either. Aside from the harsh, industrial lighting above you, the white concrete corridors are almost completely featureless. Devoid of all escape routes. If you want to get to the heart of the base and save Luke, you’ll have to incapacitate the android as soon as possible.

That is, if you can.

Even with the aid of the microbots in your blood, the simple act of forcing yourself to move is excruciating. The world fades in and out. Your body screams in protest as you stagger onto your feet, your cracked ribs grinding against bruised organs, and you cry out as your bones and flesh knit back together. Despite this – no, despite everything about the horrible journey into the underworld of Neo-Osaka – you find that you’re no worse for wear. Some deep-seated part of you hadn’t expected you to survive this far. Some horrible, insidious voice had told you to turn back, that it would be so much easier if you gave up, and that this was one of the most stupid, reckless ideas you’ve ever had. You’ve questioned yourself countless times, and each time you’ve only given yourself the same answer.

Luke is the only family you have left. You’ll do anything to save him. Even if it means tearing yourself apart in the process.

Your katana is a short distance away from you. The android has picked up a pipe that has fallen from the damaged wall, apparently intending to bludgeon you with it. You need to move. Now.

* * *

**LEVEL TEN – DIAVOLO, CEO OF AKUMAGEN**

You’ve seen him countless times. You’ve seen his face plastered over holo-ads at least four stories high, spray-painted on the sides of buildings, and welded into various merchandise. You’ve seen that dazzling smile glaring back at you from interactive ads on the train, filtered through TV screens, and scrawled across news stories. You’ve learned through years and years of media consumption that this man is a hero. That Diavolo, CEO of AkumaGen Technologies, is nothing short of magnanimous, selfless, and ultimately perfect leader. You would recognize that shock of red hair and pinstriped suit anywhere.

The actuality of him in front of you, however, is jarring. Bizarre in a manner that makes even you drop your guard.

“You’re here,” Diavolo says, his back to you. The skyline of Neo-Osaka is laid out before the massive windows, its silhouette painted with the neon lights of holo-ads and airships. The floating mountains of Neo-Osaka idle against the clear night sky. “I do hope you’re enjoying the view. It’s precisely why I had this office built up here. There’s nothing quite like it, don’t you think?”

The massive skylight allows moonlight to stream into the room, as do the expansive glass windows. Despite his referral to the space as an office, you can scarcely believe that it is what he says it is. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

A single platform composed of marble sits at the center of the room. A myriad of strange apparatuses have been both embedded and placed beside it, most of which appear to have medical uses. Tools for dissection, if you had to guess. You don’t really want to mull over that idea. The presence of chains, shackles, and needles located near the platform give you enough information of whatever it is that they plan to do to your little brother. If the information you have taken from the scientist’s documents is to be believed – as well as what you have gathered from the cadaver – then The Devil Triad truly does intend to use your brother as a subject for the Angel Project. A stepping stone to creating the ultimate panacea. While it could very well work, you –

No. No, there’s no time to think about that now. Regardless of the circumstances, Luke isn’t some animal to be experimented on. Whatever reasons they have aren’t your concern.

There’s no chance in hell that you’re letting them to do that.

“You’ve caused a great deal of trouble for us.” Diavolo turns to face you, smoothing down a wrinkle in his suit. “Murdering left and right, slaughtering indiscriminately, cutting down anything and everything in your path. Have you ever wondered if you’re doing the right thing? If you’re on the right side?”

As if he has any right to talk, you point out. He’s the head of The Devil Triad, for fuck’s sake! Last time you checked, gangs aren’t exactly known for being moral, either. Of course you’re doing the right thing! If they give Luke back, then you’ll get out of their hair.

“That Levi boy was dismembered and left for dead by his own family,” he says, taking a step towards you. His hands are folded behind his back. “We stitched him back together and offered him a position in the triad.”

Like you would believe that. No one would be able to survive something so traumatic. Yet those scars of his – those scars could only be from – 

“Asmodeus was an adolescent addict when we found him.” Another step. “We were never able to truly wean him off his poison, but we did pull him off the streets. It’s hard to get them sober when they get addicted that young.”

So what? You’re not here for some pity party. Even if the patrons wanted to be somewhere else for a while, even if they wanted to escape the gritty reality of Neo-Osaka, surely there was a better way than –

“Mammon’s big brother got me pretty good with his knife the first time I found them in the alley.” His tone is light. Casual. Diavolo raises his hand in confirmation, pointing to a faded scar on his palm. “Goes by Lucifer, but you probably knew that already. He likes to tell people his name a little too much. Mammon was a savant with numbers and wouldn’t go anywhere without him, so we took them both in. I’m surprised he didn’t disembowel you.”

As a matter of fact, he did. But why does that matter? You just want your brother back! These people have probably killed countless times, so it’s not like you’re any less justified. You just want a happy, normal life with your family.

“And what makes you think that they were any different?” Diavolo presses. He is nearly within arm’s reach. “What makes you think they didn’t want to live happy, normal lives? I never had any intention of keeping them in The Devil Triad. They were the ones that chose to work for me. With me. The people you killed had lives, too. We took the twins in when they were starving. We picked Satan’s head out of the dumpster when he was set for the junkyard. We fight to keep our territory safe from other triads and to keep the people under our protection safe. We do what needs to be done. That doesn’t mean that we’re monsters.”

The rush of air is there before you can even see it.  
You dodge backwards just in time to see the blade of a thermal saber materialize in the air. The tip of the weapon reaches where your head was in a matter of moments, nearly singeing the air itself, and you move to unsheathe your own weapon. Light spills onto Diavolo’s form as he regards you with a cold, quiet ire. A flick of his wrist, and the blade of his thermal saber sets itself alight. He splits the handle into two and brandishes the second sword in the other hand.

For the first time, you see his mouth twitch into a frown.

“What makes you so different from us?” he demands. Determination burns like fire in his gaze. “Tell me, and I just might decide to kill you quickly.”


	3. Final Boss

**???**

You can’t win. Diavolo parries and blocks all your strikes with disturbing ease, turning the power of your attacks back onto you. Despite the changes in your strategy halfway through the battle – combining pseudo-attacks with actual blows – it is not long before Diavolo overwhelms you once more. You can’t count how many times his thermal sabers have seared through your flesh. The burns are much too numerous and prevalent for you to register them individually. When you manage to dodge a swing of his blade, Diavolo plants a kick on your stomach to create distance. When you manage to dodge the kick, Diavolo merely disorients you with the hilt of his blade.

You kneel before him, your body battered and bloodied. The microbots in your blood can’t work quickly enough. Diavolo regards you with nothing short of pure, seething hatred. The tip of his thermal saber burns the skin of your chin as he tips you face upwards, forcing you to look at him. The pain of your other wounds drowns out that of your burnt chin.

His mouth says something inaudible. No, not inaudible – the agony that you’ve been subjected to has dulled your other senses. The wounds have finally overtaken your body. When Diavolo raises a blade over his head, you can only close your eyes and hope for a clean, swift decapitation.

Yet the blade never comes.

A warmth splatters on your cheek. You open your eyes to see Diavolo still before you, his blade positioned above his head – but there’s something wrong. His expression is caught between one of shock and anger. His eyes are focused on the blooming, gaping wound in his chest, his heart somehow removed from the cavity of his rib cage. A hand covered with viscera cradles it an increment away from his chest.

His body is tossed aside. His heart joins his lifeless body in the shadows. The figure before you is strange and familiar – and yet you can’t quite fathom why. When the figure steps closer, allowing the moonlight to reveal their form, you find yourself unable to breathe. Unable to speak. You only stare wide-eyed at your savior.

Six pairs of wings have sprouted from his back, each one just as monstrous as the last. Thousands of eyes peer down at you from what you think are feathers, the pupils a bright blue, and you feel the fan of his feathers as the wings curl in to embrace you. His face has been half-formed into something that is decidedly not human, the metamorphosed half bearing marble-like skin and a devious maw. The same can generally be said for the rest of his body: his fingers have lengthened and curled into wicked claws, his legs are jointed oddly, and his feet echo the changes in his hands. As he steps forward, extending a hand towards you, the claws click against the polished floor.

“You … you came for me,” Luke says, smiling. A bright blue tear runs down his cheek. “I’m glad.”

**SIMEON, AN AMBITIOUS STUDENT RESEARCHER**

You want to rip his tongue out.

While Simeon expected you to take down a few of the Devil Triad’s prominent members, he hadn’t expected you to get this far. It’s actually quite impressive. He had expected you to be lost somewhere in The Pink Scorpion, your mind taken by the perfume. Drowned in the depths near Neo-Osaka’s wharf. Ripped apart by that wrathful librarian, at best. There’s not much pity here for them; they were starting to get in the way, anyway. He congratulates you on having succeeded this far, smiling in that familiar, now sickening manner, and asks if you enjoyed his latest creation. His latest creation was for the greater good, but it appears that he’s made yet another failure. Oh well.

Luke’s morphed, half-dead body lies at your feet. What does he mean by greater good? He’s a monster! He’s a monster and if you had just realized earlier what you had done, then –

Simeon waves off your outburst. “Monster?” he asks, laughing. “I was joking, really – this wasn’t that much of a failure. Luke just wasn’t strong enough to withstand the metamorphosis. If he was just a little bit older, I’m sure he wouldn’t have reacted so poorly.”

But why the fuck would he even consider using Luke for this? While he’s explained that Luke carries a rare genetic mutation – angel blood, he calls it – you would never be able to justify putting him through this. This is beyond student research.

“Sacrifices must be made for the greater good,” Simeon asserts. He pulls a vial filled with bright blue liquid from his pocket, presenting it to you. Luke’s blood, you realize. “The people of Neo-Osaka are miserable. Miserable, misguided, and eaten alive by the city’s vices. Don’t you think it would be cruel to rob them of something so useful? Just imagine – no more bioterrorists, no more modified humans, and no more cybernetic organisms controlling the masses. No more fear. I’m giving them a chance to defend themselves. Don’t you understand that?”

You don’t. You fully intend to stop him right now and force him to change your brother back as much as he can. The shipment of the so-called panacea will be stopped. As the one thing that stands between him and his beloved experiment, you are prepared to fight him to the death.

Unfortunately, Simeon has anticipated your answer. He inserts the vial into a syringe and plunges it into his leg, forcing the liquid into his own body. The metamorphosis begins to take over a split-second after, his visage contorted in pain. His voice distorts as he screams in agony. He folds over, gripping his chest as the appendages begin to burst from his spine. A mixture of blue and red viscera pools around him.

An abomination stands before you moments later. You ready yourself for one last battle, clutching the gaping wound that the addled, metamorphosed Luke has so lovingly inflicted upon you. If you aren’t willing to listen to Simeon’s ideals, it seems, then it looks like he’s more than willing to demonstrate the results of his experiment. Lucky, you are more than willing to demonstrate just how useless his experiment really is.

The abomination that is Simeon roars. You draw your weapon for one final time.


	4. Bad Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requirements:  
> 1\. Deal the killing blow to one or more bosses  
> 2\. Reduce Luke’s health to less than 50% while fending him off  
> 3\. Lose the final battle with Simeon

You’ve done plenty of bad things in your life. Plenty of stupid things, too. You’ve dealt Rose behind pharmacies, you’ve taken out more than a few inconveniences as a former triad underling, and you’ve stolen what little belongings the residents of Neo-Osaka have. You’ve intimidated business owners into submission, you’ve aided in various kidnappings, and you’ve killed possibly innocent targets without even questioning your actions. Slaughtering the prominent members of the Devil Triad is only another tick on your long list of misdeeds. Unknowingly killing off the only family of the Devil Triad’s leader – well, you can’t say you expected anything good to come out of this.

Yet the guilt gnaws at you from the inside.

You were sent by loan sharks to kill off two adults, you remember. A no-good father that took debts out in his wife’s name and a wife that simply gambled the money away. You remember it as if it were yesterday: there was a severe thunderstorm that day, forcing your boots to sink in mud, and it had been enough to irritate you. The two targets fell easily beneath your blade. The television played some advertisement for the up-and-coming company, AkumaGen. The lights flickered with the storm. They were just about to sit down for dinner, you gathered, judging by the scene. A simple meal of rice, pickled plums, and steamed fish was on the table.

And then you had realized that the table was set for three. A possible witness was in the house.

You aren’t sure what you had expected that day. A quick search had yielded almost nothing in the way of anyone else, despite your thorough methods. No cowards in the closets. No good-for-nothing underneath the bed. A sound had captured your attention, fumbling and muffled, and you had turned to face it with your katana held before you. Whoever it was would meet a nasty surprise, you had decided. You would behead them before they had the chance to scream.

Then a blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy of maybe two or three years of age had toddled into the hallway, clutching a blanket, and something had changed in you.

The memory is enough to cloud your mind with nostalgia. Almost, anyway. You’re not sure if you can completely remove yourself from the current situation, considering the agony of being dismembered.

There is only the sound of Simeon’s laughter, cruel and mocking. It reverberates in your skull as he tears you limb from limb. As he takes his time with each act. It would appear that he knows more about the microbots in your body than you had expected: while you can heal from most mortal wounds, you can’t exactly grow back an lost finger or two. Arms and legs are certainly out of the question. And so Simeon simply tears off a piece of a limb, allows the microbots to repair it, then repeats the process. Your screams echo in the massive chamber.

You do not know when it is when shock overtakes your body – time has long lost its meaning – but you are glad that it does. You watch the insensate Luke out of the corner of your eye as Simeon continues torturing you. Your eyes begin to glaze over.

Luke is breathing, at least. Simeon had never intended to kill him, considering his usefulness in his research. You can only hope that Luke’s mind will fall apart as quickly as possible. If his mind were to remain intact – no, you can’t think about that now. Rather, it’s useless to think of something so depressing. You are at death’s door now, despite the modifications to your body. It’s only matter of time.

You find yourself reaching towards him with your remaining arm. Simeon quickly snaps it.

Raising and protecting Luke as your own little brother is the only good thing you’ve ever done. You can’t even do that right.


	5. Good Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requirements:  
> 1\. Spare all bosses (do not deal the killing blow)  
> 2\. Do not reduce Luke’s health to less than 50%  
> 3\. Win the final battle with Simeon

You’ve asked yourself time and time again if you’re doing the right thing. If what you’re doing is enough to pay for your misdeeds. While the question is completely and utterly stupid – you’ve committed too many murders – you find that the question is an everlasting presence in the back of your mind. A quiet, nagging feeling that tips you in the right direction. And then it is joined by more questions: Is this enough to pay for your sins? Would you forgive yourself if you did this? Would this make Luke happy?

While Diavolo had thought that you had killed off his family – which you had intended to, at first – you can’t say with certainty that they are truly dead. The questions had stopped you from butchering the Sleeping Bull. You had merely rendered him unconscious. They had stopped you from simply tearing open Beelzebub’s stomach and taking the pills for yourself. You had only dealt blunt, heavy strikes to his stomach until he was forced to spit it out. You had left an insensate but alive Asmodeus in the heart of the Pink Scorpion, trusting his employees to take care of him, and you had simply dismembered the non-living parts of that irate librarian’s body. A bit of your modded blood had allowed the dockmaster’s limb to patch themselves together again, albeit slowly. You had manipulated the force of the plasma gun’s recoil back onto Mammon, using his own brash, unthinking nature against him, and you had left a massive but ultimately non-fatal injury against Lucifer’s abdomen. You had allowed the scientist to pin himself to the floor using his own abilities, the glass shards skewering him by the shoulder and ankle, and you had merely disabled the chip in the head of security’s cybernetic body. You hadn’t attacked Diavolo with murderous intent.

Most of all, you had never meant to hurt Luke. You hadn’t even bothered to raise your sword at him. You had only spoken soft, soothing words towards him, begging him to snap out of his addled state. Even as he had thrown your body against the concrete, cracking your ribs, you hadn’t raised a finger to defend yourself. Even as left gashes in your flesh, warbling incoherently, you hadn’t allowed yourself to unsheathe your weapon. Luke had left puncture wounds on your body, broken more than a few of your bones, and nearly sliced through one or two of your fingers – and still you hadn’t bothered to defend yourself. Luke was already half-dead and exhausted.

When he finally came to, his mind returning to its former state, you were nearly matched him in his condition.

But you won’t die. Not here, and certainly not now. If you’re going to die, then you’ll take down the monstrous bastard in front of you first.

The abomination that Simeon has become holds the stumps of his limbs in pain, howling in agony. Luke uses all six of his wing-like appendages to carve through the flesh of the abomination once more, tossing him to the ground, and you take the opportunity to dash up one mutilated arm. Despite your injuries – more than a few of your fingers are broken, you’ve lost almost too much blood, and you’re sure you’re missing part of an arm – you force yourself forward. You raise your weapon for one final strike, aiming for his neck.

You feel yourself make contact with your target. Darkness overwhelms your vision.

* * *

The world is a pure, rich white when you awaken. Confusion clouds your thoughts. While you hadn’t really believed in an afterlife in the first place, you’re more confused as to why you’ve ended up here. Here being some sort of heaven, that is. You find yourself merely gazing into the pure nothingness for a few moments, allowing yourself to take in the strange sight.

You realize stupidly that there are only bandages in front of your eyes.

Something wraps around you before you can tear them off, nearly crushing your bruised organs and cracked ribs, and you let out a gasp of pain. Something warm and wet soaks through your thin clothing and blanket. It drips profusely against your cheek from above as the unknown figure simply takes you into their arms and sobs.

“You’re awake!” Luke cries, hugging you tighter. You let out another squawk of discomfort. “I – I thought you – they told me that there was a chance that you wouldn’t wake up. I never meant – I didn’t mean for any of this to –“

Luke, you force out. Could he get off you for a second? You aren’t trying to die twice.

“Oh! Ah, um, yes.”

Luke pulls away the bandages over your eyes as he does so, taking care not to treat your body so roughly again. Pats down the bit of hair that’s inevitably gotten ruffled by the action. You blink away the harsh lighting of the hospital – at least, you think it’s a hospital – and take the opportunity to take in your surroundings.

Countless tubes are connected to your body. Holo-screens of all kinds surround your plain bed, monitoring your vitals, and there are more than a few chairs scattered about the room. More than one person has sat around to watch your recovery, it seems. A rather expensive-looking skylight allows sunlight to filter into the room, the light itself reflecting off the many pearl-white furnishings within. It’s bright enough to make your head hurt. You raise a hand to rub your temples, only to realize that –

“They said they couldn’t save your arm,” Luke explains with an apologetic tone. His gaze flickers to the stump of your shoulder and away in shame. “That – that was my fault. Your other one is fine, though.”

So it would seem. You flex the fingers of your remaining hand, feeling them move under the white bedsheet, then use it to rub your temples. While there are many, many questions running through your mind, the sudden pang of hunger in your belly preoccupies your thoughts. You feel as if you haven’t eaten in days. If this is a hospital, then shouldn’t they have a cafeteria of some kind?

Luke nods. “Kinda. I’ll go get it for you, if you want. Ah, wait!“

You wave off Luke’s concern as you use your remaining hand to grip the side of the bed, intending to get up. You’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, despite your injuries. Only potential bloodloss would be a problem. Now, if you can just figure out where your clothes and katana are, then you can two can head back home. You’re not exactly patient enough to be discharged, considering your nearly supernatural ability to heal.

“Oi!” a familiar voice calls out, stopping you momentarily. You blink. “Ya aren’t allowed to leave until ya get all healed up. Boss’ orders.”

You turn to see the greedy treasurer standing in the doorway, one arm casually propped against the frame. He eyes you irritably through orange sunglasses. Despite being unarmed, habit forces your remaining hand to your side. You grit your teeth.

“Y-you!”

He raises his hands in surrender. “Can’t fight here, darlin’,” he says. “I’d prefer not to, anyway. The damage ya caused was hell to pay, and I ain’t exactly the cheapest person around. They’re still fixin’ the walls right now.”

Yeah? Well, you’ll make sure they have to fix another one after you put his head through –

It takes a few minutes for Luke to stop an all-out war between the both of you. Luke managed to revive the boss of the Devil Triad with his own blood, he explains, which was a risky gamble. Yet it was one that had paid off: Simeon hadn’t exactly been lying when he said that Luke’s blood was a panacea of some sort, despite his own adverse reaction to it, and Diavolo’s body was damaged enough to accept the impromptu blood transfusion with limited problems. Bringing him back from the dead had been enough to incur a debt on his part, as had the miscommunication regarding his underlings. Lucifer and Mammon’s presence had been proof of that.

Despite the positive details of his explanation, there are more that worry you. Simeon’s body had vanished from the scene, as had a number of vials containing the results of his experiment. Diavolo and the Devil Triad aren’t sure if Simeon was working alone, given the ease of his infiltration, or if he was working for another group. Luke’s body will never be quite the same either: despite his roomy jacket and partial mask, you can still see the vestiges of his monstrous form. His wings, while tucked in, will be difficult to conceal amongst the common populace. Your left arm will never grow back, and the presence of your healing microbots would likely present a challenge if you did want a cybernetic limb outfitted.

“I still haven’t forgiven ya for ruining that suit, ya know,” Mammon growls as he escorts you and Luke down the hall. His expensive shoes clack against the marble floors of his mansion. “I don’t expect that yer gonna take it upon yerself to pay for it, either.”

He shot you in the arm, shoulder, and through one of your feet, you point out. There’s no chance in hell that you’re gonna pay to get his suit fixed.

Luke prevents another fight from breaking out between the both of you. As it would turn out, his wings are very, very sufficient in the task of keeping you both separated.

* * *

You stare at Diavolo’s outstretched hand half an hour later, despite the amiable smile that he gives you. Unlike before, you sense that this one is genuine. One that truly expresses gratitude. You’ve done him a great service for preventing such a dangerous drug from being spread amongst his territory, he explains, so it would only be natural that he would give you the freedom of choice. He had nearly beheaded you, after all.

But if you would be so generous as to aid him in tracking down the true perpetrator’s behind Simeon’s actions, he would be eternally grateful.

The questions make themselves known in your thoughts once more, analyzing the choice presented before you. Are you doing the right thing? Is this enough to pay for your sins? Would you forgive yourself if you did this? Would this make Luke happy?

The answer is a full and resounding yes.

His skin is cold when you shake his hand. A side-effect of Luke’s strange, panacea-like blood, you would guess. Mammon huffs somewhere behind you, lingering in the doorway, but he fails to say anything on the matter. Luke’s smiling, half-morphed face only encourages your decision.

Raising and protecting Luke as your own little brother is the only good thing you’ve ever done. You intend to change that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
